I don’t know how life got like this. Is this the life our parents lived? Working so hard and with such force that you are literally empty every day when you get home, barely able to see through making a meal for yourself and spending some time with your beloved child? Falling into bed and into a heavy slumber you awaken nearly drunk from, coaxing yourself out of bed and to do the rigamarole once again?
I want to revolt. I want to stamp my foot and say NO! I want to pack my bag and grab my child and head to the place or the time wherein we work to live and we eat to live and we live to live, instead of giving so much to that which gives us our daily bread that there’s nothing left to do but eat the bread, and indulge in more butter, please, because it will be your day’s sole pleasure.
How did we get here? Is it just New York City? I don’t think so. Is it just working in media, which is collapsing around itself and rebirthing itself and reshaping itself in such a dynamic and uncontrolled conflagration that I can’t believe we don’t all come home from work every day with second-degree burns on our hands? I don’t think so. Aren’t all businesses going through that? Is yours? Do tell. I need company in the insane asylum.
I want to revolt. I want to fall out of love with things and fall out of love with comfort and stop wanting to surround myself with beauty so I can live with nothing and need nothing and have a small and unremarkable house in a small and unremarkable neighborhood and live a small and unremarkable life.
All I ever wanted when I was young to be big. And now I can’t get small enough fast enough.
Does anyone else ever think these things? Or am I actually, finally losing my mind? I cried for an hour straight this morning, paralyzed with the unfixableness of it all. Yes, I am moving to the country. Yes, I will be surrounded by trees. Yes, I can get a treadmill in my house. Yes, I can get a dog that I will need to walk every day. Yes, I can try to build a life that will force me to live in my body a little bit more. But the bulk of my living will still be in my head, and I just can’t believe that’s how it was meant to be.
I want to be a body. A body in the world. A body seeing the world and moving in the world and taking in the world and being humbled and majestified by all that is not me. A body that carries a brain that sees and experiences the world, and then turns around and writes things about the world. Instead of being stuck in this endless internal hell of judging and panicking and rushing and failing to remember to do the most rudimentary acts of self-care.
For what? For what? Does anyone remember For What all this rush and panic is for?
I can’t remember. And I want to revolt. Before I don’t have it in me to do even that.
Tell me, dear reader, do you know what I speak of? And how did we get here? Do tell, please do tell.